[He pulls a face, almost looking offended.]

Portlaoise, mate. I'm not fond of Dublin, knobheads flock there.

[He stuffs his hands in his pockets, a nervous habit, but there's a friendly upward tug of his lips.]

Can we not? I'd really rather pass that up.

[His dark amber gaze locks with Herbert's for a brief second then it averts to the ground quickly.]

Are you not going to let me in my dorm then? I'd - I'd rather not go to Slytherin's...